Admitting defeat as life spins out of control

With a husband, seven children, four dogs, a cat that believes he’s a dog, and a full-time job, it’s probably been spinning out of control for a long time; I just didn’t want to admit it.

I’ve been fighting it, denying it and trying to keep up appearances by sweeping the dust bunnies into the corner. No more. “Uncle,” I say. “Uncle!”

Honestly, I just recently came to the realization that I was spinning. There were little hints or symptoms that I was not exactly living the dream.

Symptom #1 – My Christmas decorations were still up as of Tuesday, Jan. 22, which also happened to be my 35th wedding anniversary. This is unprecedented. My husband, Dan, and I always had a strict rule: Everything comes down on New Year’s Day. Nary a light, a stray piece of tinsel or a rogue pine needle could be found after 2 p.m. on Jan. 1.

But this year we took the decorations off the live tree in the living room, threw “O Tannebaum” out the door and left the bulk of the holiday decorations intact. “We’ll get the rest of the stuff down next week,” I promised Dan.

“Sounds good,” he said, as he settled onto the couch to watch college football.

But next week came and went. The living room looked ridiculous filled with our crazy collection of nutcrackers marching across the entertainment center under the TV. A wild patchwork of Christmas stockings was still stapled to the front door. The mantle remained covered in chintzy gold garland and stacked with lighted ceramic holiday houses.

The decorations were still in place last Saturday when I hosted my daughter’s bridesmaids who had come over to make centerpieces for her bridal shower. It looked ridiculous.

Finally, Dan could stand it no longer. “Happy anniversary,” he said. “I took down all the Christmas decorations!”

Symptom #2 – I was driving to Market Basket when I noticed a putrid odor in the car. “What is that horrible stench? Did a hobo die in here?” I thought to myself. When I got to the store parking lot, I opened the rear hatch of my SUV to see where the smell was coming from, and there it was – my 12-year-old son Jarid’s hockey bag.

“Oh my God! How stinky.” I yelled to no one. Not only did the bag smell like a mix of foot fungus, rotting rodents, a barrel of decomposing mackeral and the body odor of 1,000 men, but now I had no place to put the groceries.

The hockey bag was yet another sign that life as I had known it, had disintegrated. We had always taken care of Jarid’s hockey bag before. We would wash its contents and air out the bag four or five times a season. But now, cleanliness was no longer an option. I don’t think we have laundered anything in the bag since the season began in September. Yuck!

Sympton #3 – Last Sunday I was on my way to pick up our son Jeff, 14, at his friend’s house after a birthday party and sleepover. I was in such a rush, I did not grab my purse or cell phone. Big mistake.

I was nearly to my destination when I saw blue lights flashing behind me. I pulled over thinking the policeman would whiz right by me on his way to capture a bad guy, but it turned out he was after me!

“License, please” the officer said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have my license. It’s at home,” I said sheepishly.

“Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?” the nice young officer asked?

“I have no idea,” I said.

“You are driving an unregistered vehicle.”

“That’s impossible,” I replied, as a fumbled through a folder trying to find my registration.

“I remember going to Town Hall. I remember taking care of it,” I said.

The officer apologized, but said he had to write me a citation that would end up costing me $100. He was nice enough not to have my car towed.

When I checked on the registration later, the policeman was right. Dan and I had registered my 17-year-old son Jacob’s car and my 18-year-old daughter, Jenn’s car, but had somehow forgotten to register my vehicle.

The train is officially derailed. I left my Christmas decorations up for a month after the holiday, my son’s hockey bag is a hazardous waste site and I am now a common criminal sought by police.

My world really is spinning out of control. I’m getting dizzy and I can’t wait to see what happens next as long as I don’t have to go to prison.

Mary Pat Rowland is managing editor of Foster’s Daily Democrat and can be reached at mprowland@fosters.com.